


The Elfling's Song

by Aglarien



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-07-13
Packaged: 2018-04-09 02:03:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4329603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aglarien/pseuds/Aglarien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lindir comes to Imladris.  A little something I wrote a couple years ago as an insert in one of Chaotic Binky's stories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Elfling's Song

Title: The Elfling’s Song  
Author: Aglarien  
Characters: Erestor/Glorfindel implied  
Rating: G  
Disclaimer: Not mine. The great Master Tolkien's estate owns everything. I promise to return his elves when I'm done playing with them.  
Timeline: The fall of Eregion and the founding of Imladris  
Beta: Phyncke

 

The little elfling burrowed into the pile of leaves and branches he had gathered into the small cave, trying to keep warm. It wasn’t a large cave – more like a hollow on the side of the mountain, but it was the best shelter he could find and the nights were growing colder. He was hungry and his stomach hurt from it, but the hunger hadn’t made him brave enough to venture down into the valley yet. He had followed the footprints of a large group of elves and he could see them now, down in the valley, their camp fires glowing warmly. 

Memories of his mother and father sitting with him, holding him, in front of the fire in their snug cottage assailed him. Tears streaked the dust from his face as he curled into himself, rocking slowly back and forth. Tomorrow – tomorrow he would hunt for more roots to ease the ache in his stomach, and there were lots of pools of water and streams from the river. He could try and find a better place too. He’d come upon the valley just before nightfall, and there had been no time to find anything better. Maybe he could catch a fish like his father had shown him too. The thought made his heart hurt worse and he sobbed until exhaustion finally enfolded him and he slept.

Morning came and the elfling washed in an icy pool of water. He couldn’t see any fish, so he searched around the little mountain hollow and found some herbs and roots like the ones he used to gather for this mother. There was no pot to cook them in, and he had no fire anyway, so he sat and ate them raw and then drank some more water. It wasn’t much and he was still hungry, but it was all he could find and he was afraid of wandering too far and finding more of the evil creatures who had killed his parents. 

He sat in his hollow and watched the elves in the valley below him. There seemed to be an awful lot of them. There were big tents - a lot of them – and lots of little ones, too. There were even some buildings, bigger than his home was, that were made of stone. As the camp below stirred, he could see there were all kinds of elves, even children like him. Fires were kindled and it wasn’t long before the smells of their cooking wafted its way to the little elfling. His stomach rumbled as he watched the elves begin to take bowls of steaming food and then sit down and eat. Loneliness, longing for his parents, and hunger overwhelmed him, and he knew he had to find his way down into the valley. In the valley there was food and fires and warmer places to sleep. He was just so tired from the days and days of walking and eating nothing but roots. 

It took the elfling nearly all day, but just before dusk he found himself on the edge of the camp. He hid behind the trees and bushes and watched. He was so hungry but was afraid to ask for fear he would be told he wasn’t welcome and to leave. For all his youth, he knew if he couldn’t stay here with these elves, he would die. Just like his parents. He moved closer to the trees outlining the camp and knelt by a tree. The pine’s branches seemed to close in around him and protect him from the encroaching cold and he relaxed and curled his knees beneath him, continuing to watch. 

He brushed tears from his eyes with his sleeve and took a deep gasp of air to open his tightening throat. A breeze stirred around him, and suddenly it was quiet, and in the quiet he heard his father’s voice. “My son, you will never have need to go hungry, for all you need do is to sing for your supper.” The elfling blinked and looked around, searching, but his father was nowhere to be seen, and then his mother’s voice whispered, “Sing, my sweet little songbird. Sing.” 

Startled, the elfling rose to his feet, his eyes searching for his parents, even though he knew they could not be there. He knew where they lay. He scrubbed his eyes and the hunger in his stomach forced the memory away. Remembering his mother’s voice, he bravely stood in front of the pine tree and opened his mouth to sing.

A voice like one of the Ainur who had sung the world into existence filled the valley, seeming to rise from the earth itself to the peaks of the surrounding mountains, weaving through the waterfalls and trees. The elfling sang the song his mother had taught him, a ballad that spoke of love and loss, of family and home. All movement in the valley ceased as all listened to the wondrous voice, enchanted, and more than a few lifted sleeves to wet eyes.

When the song ended, its last notes echoing off the hills, the elfling stood, eyes closed, tears having once more cleansed his face. He had heard his mother singing with him, and a sense of indescribable loss filled his being. He was still standing, unseeing, when he felt a presence close to him and an arm enfolded him. He opened to eyes to see grey eyes what were as gentle as his mother’s and as kind as his father’s. An elf clothed in dark robes knelt before him.

“My name is Erestor,” the elf said, his voice melodic and deep. “I have not seen you before. Did you just arrive here? Are you hungry?”

The elfling nodded, his eyes never leaving Erestor’s. 

“Is your family here? Your parents?”

The elfling shook his head. “The Orcs killed them,” he whispered. 

“Then come with me,” Erestor said, lifting the elfling into his arms. “I will take care of you.”

It was several hours later that Elrond had a moment to stop by the nearly-finished quarters that Erestor and Glorfindel shared. The elfling had been given a nourishing hot meal, followed by a hot bath, and was currently sound asleep beneath warm blankets, his dark hair spread over the pillow in the center of Erestor and Glorfindel’s bed. “How does he fare?” Elrond asked quietly as he joined the other two elves in front of the room’s fire where they sat watching over the elfling. “Have you learned his story?”

“He walked all the way here on his own,” Glorfindel said, “following the tracks make by other fleeing elves, surviving on roots, and arrived in the valley last night. It took him weeks.”

“His parents had time to hide him apparently,” Erestor added, “before they were cut down. The child has strength.”

Elrond shook his head. There was nothing that needed to be said. All three elves had been dealing with the evil spread by Sauron and the destruction of Eregion. At least they had been able to found this refuge in its hidden valley. “The child is gifted with a voice as sweet as Lúthien’s. We will nurture him – and his gift – here in Imladris, for we surely have need for such as he.”

“He is a sweet child,” Erestor said.

“Erestor and I shall raise him as our own,” Glorfindel added. 

Elrond nodded. “Good.” He rose to leave, nodding a good night to his friends and counselors. At the door, he turned and asked, “What is his name?”

“Lindir,” Erestor answered. “His name is Lindir.”

Elrond simply smiled.

~the end


End file.
